Incident (3)
“……”
While reading the paper and muttering corrections, I fell silent at some point. But I didn’t stop marking it up.
[Wrong, and inefficient in many places. Keep the core idea, but…]
In truth, ‘Drent’ had caused an unsavory incident at the thesis conference, but for the original Deculein, it was talent bordering on the unthinkable. I’d only anticipated Ifrin as a subordinate, so this was an unexpected windfall.
My rambling soliloquy must have been due to the unexpectedly good mood.
It wasn’t like me.
Not that I even knew what “like me” meant anymore.
“……Hm.”
Deculein’s personality was authoritarian. The more superior the other party, the more he desired their submission—and when they crawled beneath him like this, he even felt a twisted pleasure.
But now, my body was filled with discomfort.
The moment of cornering him precisely felt alien. My entire body, honed acutely by the Iron Man trait, had sensed it through the sharp senses that uncovered Allen’s secret.
The one gripping the wheel.
That bastard wasn’t Jeff.
“……”
Still, I couldn’t act rashly.
I scanned the car interior with meticulous care. Villain’s Fate detected no danger.
Of course. If boarding this car itself were risky, the trait’s radar would have pinged already.
A flaw in the trait, perhaps.
Villain’s Fate didn’t warn of danger—it only flagged variables leading to death.
I opened the window. Ordinary scenery flowed by, but the instant the outside wind rushed in.
The entire road was dyed a vivid crimson.
Outside was a deathtrap. At least in this area, the car was the safest spot.
The moment I grasped the situation.
Encounter
◆ Shop Currency +1
The quest appeared.
I pondered calmly.
“An encounter, is it.”
A smile slipped across my face unbidden.
I had no idea who arranged this tasteless meeting.
“……I’ll consider it an invitation.”
Thinking of it as an invitation made it easier.
I glanced at the driver in the rearview mirror. Our eyes met, and he gripped the wheel tightly. Sweat beaded on his knuckles.
“Worry not. I shan’t stoop to ungentlemanly acts. After all, you’re no true man, are you.”
He didn’t reply, and time remained. I resumed marking the paper.
Vroooom—
Gerek glared at Deculein’s car far ahead. He tailed it at a prudent distance, but to bloodthirsty Gerek, it was unbearably frustrating.
“Why can’t we just kill him?”
Gerek asked. Al Ross, at the wheel, answered calmly.
“You—Gerek, right?”
“Yeah, Gerek. I’m with you now, Al Ross. The ‘real body.’”
Al Ross said nothing and floored the accelerator.
The puppet driving Deculein’s car was one into which Al Ross had transplanted a portion of her soul—a half-puppet.
About 7%?
Thus, it lacked the main body’s wisdom: foolish, clumsy, dim. Yet everything it saw, heard, and felt transmitted perfectly to the original, and it acted believing itself the true self.
That was how this puppetry achieved perfection.
A puppet aware of its falseness moved without vigor. It lacked motivation in all things, botched missions, and occasionally defied orders.
Implanting a full soul into one puppet incurred too steep a penalty from soul separation, so this was her painstaking innovation.
Gerek muttered.
“So, the soul fragment in that puppet dies the moment it reaches you? Without even knowing it’s a puppet?”
“Something like that.”
“Cruel. No personality in your puppets, then?”
“A fitting sacrifice.”
Al Ross gave a wry smile. Gerek glanced at her and pressed.
“What sacrifice?”
“Even I, in my current state, might not know if I’m puppet or original.”
“……”
Gerek’s eyes widened.
The “original” he believed himself to be might be just a soul fragment yielded by some hidden Al Ross.
This memory, too, could be a fabrication by that true body.
The price of crafting the most perfect puppet despite her imperfect humanity.
Perfection meant humanity, so Al Ross would live forever haunted by the doubt that she herself might be a puppet.
“I like that about you, sis.”
Gerek beamed. At “sis,” Al Ross furrowed her brow.
“……Told you not to trick me.”
“Sis~”
Gerek grinned creepily and lunged. Al Ross shoved the “little sister” off her shoulder.
“Siiiis, I loooove you~”
“Don’t cling. I’m driving.”
At least he had a pretty face for a man.
If he looked like a bearded bandit, she’d have killed him already.
Siiiisieeee~
“Quiet, Jellin.”
This wasn’t Gerek—it was Jellin, the most manageable of his personalities.
“But sis, I can’t hold back forever. I want to kill Deculein as much as big bro. You know how I died, right?”
“Heard it dozens of times from Gerek.”
Jellin twitched his brows at Al Ross’s reply.
“Hmph. That dummy steals everything. Even the topics I thought up—he takes all the credit…”
Grumbling, Jellin suddenly bowed his head and clutched his pant leg. His voice dropped low.
“Sis.”
“What.”
“I’m real, right?”
Al Ross turned to look at Jellin.
“Who knows.”
Puppeteer and soul-shaper Al Ross.
Her teaming with Gerek was no coincidence.
“Don’t dig too deep.”
His myriad personalities could be mere mental illness.
And she herself, just a soul fragment from the true body.
“As long as you don’t overthink, it’s fine.”
Their shared essence was identity.
Living unsure if real or fake was opaque, a heart-anchor dragging emotions into melancholic depths.
“Life’s like that. Humans recover if they don’t dwell. Trust your ego’s resilience. Live shallowly.”
“……Sis~”
Jellin teared up deeply moved and lunged, but Al Ross elbowed his chin.
“Scram, Gerek.”
“Tch. How’d you know.”
Jellin’s acting was superb, but not Gerek’s.
Al Ross clicked her tongue.
“No time for games.”
Through the puppet’s ears, she heard Deculein’s voice.
—An encounter…… I’ll consider it an invitation.
This damned professor’s intuition was astonishing. She’d braced for plan cancellation the moment he noticed the puppet, but then Gerek would act alone.
Worse.
“Deculein accepts this as an invitation. He’s confident.”
“Really? Impressive. He matched Rohakan blow for blow. I couldn’t kill that geezer. When did Deculein get so strong?”
That instant. Al Ross flinched.
Deculein had just said something profoundly meaningful.
—Worry not. I shan’t stoop to ungentlemanly acts. After all, you’re no true man.
Perhaps mere puppet = fake. But if, by any chance.
If he meant the soul itself.
“Al Ross. What’s wrong?”
“……Nothing.”
Impossible. No human could discern a soul’s authenticity.
Unless a god.
“We’re almost there.”
The destination appeared: an empty lot far from the city, abandoned under “development” pretext—an underground void.
“Rawr~ This’ll be fun. Rawr~”
“Gerek. One of your personalities a beast?”
“Yup! One I raised. There’s a shotgun-wielding cowboy too? Rawr~!”
Gerek roared tiger-like, grinning.
The car advanced slowly. Roadside buildings and lamps faded; suddenly, the vehicle sank into the underground lot’s depths.
An unknown space.
Darkness filled the windows.
The car rattled onward, halting at the center.
Deculein eyed the driver’s seat. Jeff had become a mannequin.
Al Ross, then.
He looked outside again. Villain’s Fate showed no issue.
“……”
Deculein exited.
An underground parking-like expanse.
Clack—clack—the heels echoed.
—Welcome.
A voice from the right.
Deculein turned. No crude wariness—he stood calmly. No death variable.
“Long time no see~”
A man emerged from the darkness like a cloak. Deculein recognized him instantly.
Jaken.
Underworld named.
“Ah~ stop, stop. Don’t come closer, yeah?”
He’d taken one step. Jaken overreacted, waving dramatically. Odd gesture.
“Don’t move a muscle. Stay right there.”
Deculein peered through the character lens.
──「Ruler」──
◆ Grade
: Unique
◆ Description
: One who engages in politics.
: Can mimic others’ traits through compromise. (Limited to Unique or lower traits; no violence in compromise process.)
Jaken was a peculiar named—the sole underworld base among the Six Heads.
The underworld wasn’t beyond imperial reach, heightening risk, but true to “Ruler,” he’d solidified his turf with bribes long ago.
“Don’t stand so stiff. Don’t ruin that handsome face.”
For a Six Head, his attire was nobly aristocratic. Tuxedo-worthy, with slicked-back purple long hair embodying his flair.
“Deculein. I propose a peaceful deal.”
Deculein listened silently.
“‘Altar’ wants your rune language.”
“……”
“Hand over the interpretation. After verification, we split 50-50. At least 100 million for you.”
Behind Jaken, a robed figure lurked.
This “encounter” was a side branch of the main quest.
“What say you?”
Jaken smirked, soliciting agreement.
Deculein replied.
“Your speech is impudent.”
“……Tch.”
The bastard clicked his tongue, swept back his hair, shook his head irritably, then eyed me again.
“Deculein. I know you. That’s why I seek peace. And I’m not demanding full rights to your runes. If you wish, we’ll enchant them with ‘viewing magic’—visible only to Altar’s brass. Mages for that are—”
“Jaken.”
Deculein cut him off.
“If you know me, correct your tongue first.”
Within this flesh, fury boiled. His ire toward the man twisted darkly.
“I deign not to look upon vermin apeing nobility.”
Simply.
That damned arrogance grated too much to continue.
“A maggot mimicking nobles. Who taught you such speech?”
Jaken’s face hardened.
“……”
He licked his lips repeatedly, bowed his head briefly, then clutched his nape and laughed.
“Still arrogant as ever. But your situation isn’t rosy. Get a grip.”
Jaken sighed and continued.
“Altar could crack your skull and extract your brain for the runes. You’d hate that, right? And.”
Snap—!
Jaken snapped his fingers; a barrier manifested, enveloping dozens of meters around Deculein’s feet.
He glared from outside.
“A barrier. You, magic professor, know its density and strength best.”
It looked sturdy at a glance.
“Honoring your feat against Rohakan, I’ve prepared utmost courtesy.”
Chilling killing intent surged like wind, filling the empty underground.
Caused by a new arrival.
“Deculein. I say again. This is no request.”
Deculein eyed the face-obscured figure. Male-like, but features hidden.
“Your boyfriend, Jaken?”
Jaken flinched, then bellowed.
“Don’t spout mad shit!”
“One of the snake heads, yet so fearful of me.”
“Hmph. If I meant to kill, you’d be dead. I respect your underworld prestige. I just want peace.”
“Such cowardice unfit for manhood?”
“……Hey! Show yourself. Professor Deculein won’t wise up!”
Darkness parted opposite. Deculein’s expression chilled.
He exuded death variables. Nay—he was a death variable incarnate.
“Gerek.”
“Yeah. You know him. This infamous bastard.”
Multiple-personality Gerek. Top-tier madman named, combat monster, and Deculein’s death-variable clump.
Deculein scoffed.
“Jaken. You think you control him?”
“I can’t. Breach the barrier, and Gerek kills you.”
At Gerek’s feet, death variables crept shadow-like. Deculein tracked the crimson motion.
“Refuse the deal, and Gerek shatters the barrier and slays you.”
Yet the variables halted at the barrier.
A hint from Villain’s Fate.
“……Curious.”
“Heh.”
Deculein peered into the barrier with Understanding.
Independent barrier magic using a medium. Operated by the medium, regardless of caster.
In other words.
The owner could change anytime.
Requiring immense computation and time, but he had the faculty—and this barrier was small, so quick…
“……”
Understanding analyzed it. Naked Eye traced mana flows, reverse-engineered circuits and spells, and Rokelok’s Staff—grasping the medium—rewrote it.
He’d hijacked the barrier perfectly.
Deculein drew a revolver from his coat. Six rounds loaded.
“Oh ho. Fine accessory.”
Jaken shrugged. Deculein raised the muzzle to the barrier ceiling and fired.
—Bang!
Five shots.
No scratch on the barrier, but it drew Gerek’s gaze.
“Gerek. Hear me?”
“……I do. But I’m not Gerek.”
Gerek answered. Deculein raised a brow.
“Who, then.”
“Jellin. Big bro won’t emerge. Whatever trick you pull, he won’t let you ruin it.”
“Adorable.”
Deculein nodded at Jellin’s words.
“Yet he watches.”
“……No. Your schemes won’t work.”
Jellin narrowed his eyes. Deculein calmly checked the revolver’s cylinder. Five shots fired—one left.
“One of six rounds loaded.”
Expressionless, he snapped the cylinder shut with a click—! and spun it. Now, no telling which was empty.
“Gerek.”
Jellin’s eyes bulged. Deculein pressed the muzzle to his temple.
As if to suicide…
“Let’s play a game.”
Jaken scowled; grasping the ploy, Jellin clamped his mouth. Gerek rampaged within.
Click—
He cocked the hammer. The chill sound echoed.
The mechanism was impartial; pulling the trigger would fire whatever probability dictated.
“Will I die by your hand first.”
Empty chamber?
“Or mine, first.”
Or the last bullet.
He murmured lowly.
“Or will you awaken before I end myself.”
Deculein stared at Jellin. Panicked Jaken muttered, Hey, don’t fall for it! That mage’s trick—futile.
These mana-sensitive ones knew best if magic influenced this Russian roulette.
“Will you send me off so tamely.”
Click—he hooked the trigger. Muzzle to temple, Deculein smiled.
Jellin’s face twisted oddly.
“First round.”
Click—! The empty click made Jellin shudder.
“Lucky.”
Deculein cocked again. But Jellin shook his head and yelled.
“It won’t work!”
Deculein’s smile held. He gazed down at Gerek’s personality.
“……Jellin, was it.”
Jaken brought Gerek for “courtesy,” but it was a blunder.
Gerek was uncontrollable by any.
Of course, moderate rage might target only Deculein.
But maximized psychosis?
He became a berserker blind to friend or foe—this named Gerek.
“I wonder…… can you endure drowning’s agony?”
Jellin didn’t answer. His expression chilled.
“……”
I smiled faintly at his feet. Death variables spread everywhere except the barrier.
Likely not applying only to me.
---